Concrete Jungle
by NezumiNezumi
Summary: AU, Each chapter is a step in Harry's life and his struggle in the "concrete jungle". (M)


**CONCRETE JUNGLE**

 **Disclaimer : all rights to the characters and HP universe belong to JK Rowling. This fan fiction is for entertainment only.**

 **AU & M content**

 **—1— MURDERER**

God…What am I doing? All fucked up in my own blood…I'm cold.

Damn…When did it start already?

Right, my parents' death. I didn't forget actually. How could I? Sarcasm is just vital sometimes...It's like coffee, you don't get the taste at first and then, you just need it.

I was eleven when it all started. Just a kid, just a lamb at the gangs' mercy. If it wasn't for him, I would have been eaten by this concrete jungle. Or maybe I have, after all.

You tell me.

* * *

"Code 3-2-5, code 3-2-5 on Godric's Hollow," the black radio of a police car signaled in the middle of the night.

"Fuck! It's a murder Dre!" a seated old cop yelled through the window. His colleague was taking a pee on the side road. Hurrying his zipper up, he wiped down his palms on his jeans and ran to the car.

He wasn't the kind to do things with elegance.

"C'mon Ernie, ye old hag! I bet it's the Slytherin Gang again!" Andre said, banging eagerly his fist on the car and getting in. "They've been up to it lately, let's go—!"

Running the engine, Ernest gave a look to his young coworker before tearing up a storm of squealing tires down the road. Andre was quick to fasten his belt. The old man was a hell of a driver.

* * *

"I do not know what happened, _Sir_. I was watching T.V. when I heard _gunshots_. Savages! Dreadful thing I tell you! I immediately called 9-1-1, I am an _exemplary_ citizen you know, and I hid in my room." said a middle-aged lady all wrapped in pink.

Her voice was ear-splitting and her scent, strongly flowery-like.

The detective frowned. "Madam Umbridge, did you see anything? You just heard shots? Even the slightest clue might help in this case. Shadows, cars, shouts, anything?" he asked, hopeful and hopeless at the same time.

" _No_. As I _said_ , I only heard two _awful_ gunshots, called the police, and hid in my room!" she repeated with that high pitched tone of hers, upset.

The detective smiled, watching her with cold blue eyes through his half-moon shaped glasses. "Well, it looks like you did the bare minimum, as an _exemplary_ citizen, thank you."

"What—? How dare you! I—"

"Sir," interrupted a cop, "name's Andre Head". The young cop reached his hand out and added: "I just arrived with me partner Ernie—I mean Ernest Prang. Car's parked down the street. What happen'd, Sir? It's a 3-2-5, right?"

The detective seized the black young man; a newbie according to his young age and the thrill in his brown eyes. He had an accent, Jamaican probably.

"Agent Head," he shook the hand. "I am Dumbledore, detective. Part of my crew is already inside but your help is more than welcome. Your partner is waiting in the car?" The young cop nodded. Dumbledore grabbed his shoulder and considered one last time the pink lady standing impatiently in front of him.

"Madam Umbridge, please, go back to your home. Here is my card," he said, reaching inside the pocket of his black coat, "call if you have any further information." Offended, she took it vehemently and headed back to her place. She did not fail to mutter "old prick" before leaving.

The detective gave a small pressure to the young cop's shoulder and led the way to the entrance. Half of his crew was inside and the other half outside, patrolling in the garden for clues and barring the place with crime-scene tape. Journalists would arrive soon enough and evidence had to be preserved.

"Let's see what they've found," Dumbledore stated.

The house was rather small, made in wood with two floors and silent except for the footsteps of the police officers already inside. Dumbledore looked around and moved quietly to the leaving-room bathed in soft light, Andre in tow. The furniture seemed untouched. A large sofa was facing a fireplace and here and there, family pictures were hanging on the walls. Andre stepped towards one of them, next to the fireplace, and reached for it. A beautiful woman with brown hair and bright green eyes was smiling at the camera. She had a little boy in her arms and a handsome man with a peaceful smile by her side.

They were beautiful.

"Try not to touch anything," Dumbledore said to the young cop. "You're not wearing these—" he showed Andre the white gloves he had just put on mischievously "—and might therefore leave fingerprints."

Andre apologized, embarrassed, and put the picture back in its place. "I'll mind my hands, Sir."

"Anyway..." Dumbledore's voice suddenly trailed off as he saw the picture close enough to distinguish the faces. His body stiffened. He knew this family. With a twinge of sorrow, Dumbledore averted his eyes. The worst was yet to come.

"Sir, it doesn't look like a robbery that ended badly," Andre noticed, thoughtful. "Everything's at its right place, there's no sign of a break-in." he added.

"Indeed." Dumbledore said in a sad tone. "Let's go upstairs." The young cop nodded and followed the older man. They took the creaking stairs, walked along a small corridor and reached the first room on the right. There, an agent was crouched in front of a dead man's body.

"Hagrid," the detective said.

The police officer turned to the two men. Dre made a small noise at the sight of him. God, he felt small. This guy was huge.

"Headshot." he told them.

Well, the giant wasn't the kind to beat about the bush.

"His name is James—"

"Potter."

The detective had just cut him off. Neither Hagrid nor Andre dared to ask him how he knew the victim. His tone had been cold and a beer would eventually untie his tongue…

"There is also a woman." Hagrid added gloomily. "Next room. Headshot too, no bloodshed. The killer's a pro, Albus. Not just some thug. "

"No kid?" The old man asked, tensed.

The giant shook his head.

Dumbledore's shoulders slouched down, as if a weight had been lifted.

"Agent Head," he said, now looking at the young cop. "Please—"

He paused.

Andre was pale. Being thirty years in the police force, the detective had forgotten what it was like to be confronted to a crime scene. The feeling was always strongly different and yet, it seemed to fade away over years. Still, for a newbie, it was a rough time.

Changing his mind, the detective gave Andre a sly smile. "Go check the surroundings. You might find some useful clues about our killer, or the child." The detective motioned Hagrid to give him new gloves from the medical bag next to him. "Put them on." he added, handing the gloves over to Dre.

No need to ask twice. Andre nodded, took the gloves and left the room, relieved. Even if the killer had been "clean", he had still seen blood and brain splashed on the walls.

Dumbledore squatted next to Hagrid and studied the corpse. It was harder than usual since he knew the victim. Yet, his surgical way of apprehending crime scenes was helpful. It numbed his emotions, allowing him to be a hundred percent efficient.

"I found these papers on him." Hagrid said, pulling out some cards from a wallet. "He was a history Professor." The giant scratched his beard in bewilderment. "I don't understand Albus, who would kill someone like him? Like them?"

Albus kept quiet. His eyes fixed on the dead face of James Potter; he removed mechanically a recorder from his coat pocket and pressed play. "Albus Dumbledore, detective. My team was called an hour ago by a neighbour of the victim. Her name is Dolores Umbridge. It's a 3-2-5. I'm in a room—" he paused, checking his surroundings "—I'm in a bedroom, the parents' bedroom, and there is no sign of a potential fight between the victim and the murderer. The furniture is untouched. The victim…James Potter, was shot between the eyes. He was facing the murderer." Dumbledore paused again, thoughtful. "It looks like he didn't resist, maybe he knew him." He grabbed the left wrist of the victim. "Rigor mortis hasn't started yet." He then unbuttoned James' white shirt and examined his torso. "There is no other sign of a physical aggression, at first sight. His murderer did what he had to do, methodically. He left nothing to chance…he is organised. He killed the victim in cold blood, no signs of violence." Albus stopped the recorder. There wasn't much to say, it was the perfect crime and that mere fact stirred the depth of his being.

"You knew him?" Hagrid asked.

Albus looked at him and gave a faint smile. "Yes…I met James at the university. He was my roommate." Hagrid watched the suddenly sad face of his superior and friend, and chastised himself mentally for being curious. "I'm sorry Albus."

"I should go check on Minerva…and the corpse of Lily Potter." The detective said, resigning himself to the tragic fate of his former friends. "The forensic is coming."

He pushed on his feet and left the room.

* * *

Andre was excited and appalled at the same time. Had he not been told to look for clues, he would have undoubtedly fainted. And Ernie would have mocked him for years. But the smell, the body, the blood…it was too much and definitely _not_ his cup of tea. Yet, it changed him from the traffic offenses he usually dealt with and Ernie had been kind enough to let him go and investigate instead of keeping the car. It was his first crime scene since he got out of Hogwarts' Police Academy and it thrilled him.

The young cop, all dressed up in his blue uniform, walked past the second room where the corpse of Mrs. Potter was. He paused only for a second. Another Detective, McGonagall, was already inside taking notes in a small notebook and he didn't want to interrupt her nor did he want to see another dead body, for now. Plus, McGonagall wasn't the friendly kind. He had her as a trainer and those memories were painful. Instead, he decided to further investigate the others rooms of the floor.

The first room on his left was the bathroom. He walked in and turned the light on. The new gloves were handy. His hazelnut gaze watchful, Andre started to review the items placed here and there on the top of the sink and the bathtub. Everything was tidy and showed none of the agitation of the past hours. Nothing in the house actually did. Eventually turning around, Dre left the room and headed for the last part of the house unexplored: the kid's bedroom according to the wooden letters hanging on the door and outlining the name "Harry".

Slipping inside, the young cop quickly ran into a small bed. A warm feeling exuded from the colourful furniture. Yet, Dre frowned at the sight of it. The kid's duvet had been dragged on the floor and the carpet, among other things, was upside down. This room, unlike the others, was a bit of a mess. Something was wrong. However, Dre didn't have time to think twice as he suddenly heard a muffled sound coming from the opposite corner of the room. Keeping his wits about him, the young cop walked towards the middle-sized wardrobe standing there, and knocked on it. He didn't know why he did it, but he felt as if it was the right thing to do.

Another muffled sound came from the piece of furniture.

Careful, Dre slowly opened the door and took a peek inside. Children's clothes were neatly hung upwards while some were stacked at the bottom. Nothing's unusual so far but Dre followed his gut and crouched down.

A small human shape was hidden beneath the clothes.

"Harry…?" Andre softly asked.

The shape moved and wept.

Mindful not to rush things with the kid and scare him for good, Andre waited patiently for a time. He then gently raised his hands and moved aside the cumbersome clothes from the wardrobe.

Harry sat there, at the very back, hunched forward and weeping, his small hands concealing his face.

"I'm a cop." Dre said. "I'm here to help ye kiddo."

"I mean ye no harm." he added.

Harry sniffed and straightened. Hesitant, he finally looked up in Andre's direction and fixed him with his beautiful eyes full of tears. The gentle smile he then saw on the young cop's face warmed him up a bit. His odd accent was probably a part of that change too.

Dre offered him his hand. Harry grabbed it and hoisted himself out of the wardrobe. The kid was cute with his chubby cheeks and small hands. However, Dre soon felt a sticky fluid on his palm. Blood. Looking at Harry closely, the young cop noticed the lightning-bolt-shaped scar on the kid's forehead from which the red liquid was seeping. It troubled him. Did the murderer do that?

"I'm gonna call my superior kiddo, he'll help ye." Dre said in a smooth tone, putting his clean hand on Harry's shoulder in a comforting way.

Harry softly nodded and the cop called for Dumbledore.

The detective was studying Lily Potter's body with McGonagall when Agent Head called for him. The modus operandi of the killer had been the same with the woman. Fast, clean, precise, she couldn't have resisted either and he had the strong feeling that the Potter's knew their killer. He had been welcomed. But more than that, something bothered him. Lily Potter bothered him.

As he came around, Dumbledore got up and told Minerva to keep performing fluid tests on the body. He was intrigued by what the newbie had discovered and left the room at a quick pace.

* * *

Dumbledore's heart skipped a beat once he reached Harry's bedroom as he certainly hadn't expected to found what, or who, awaited him. There, in the middle of the room, stood a cute little boy with dark hair and green eyes who was like two peas in a pod with his father. It abruptly reminded him of James, stirring something deep inside, but now wasn't the right time to be nostalgic, especially when such a miracle had occurred: Lily and James' only child was alive.

Andre Head pushed to his feet at the sight of Dumbledore and told him what happened since he had left the room with James corpse's in.

"I call'd for ye straight away, Sir."

He ended up saying, gently stroking Harry's hair. The detective nodded, approving of his behaviour, and walked towards Harry. He then squatted in front of him and smiled. It was a genuine smile.

"Hi, Harry. My name is Albus."

Harry stayed quiet, his eyes riveted on Albus' moon-shaped glasses. He was captivated. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows in surprise and pointed his glasses out with a finger. Harry slightly tilted his head up and down and Albus removed the object in order to give it to him. His cuteness was worth a ride and could almost make one forget the bloody situation they were all in.

"How old are you, my boy?" Albus smoothly asked.

With his small hands, Harry folded and unfolded the arms of the glasses but he soon stopped and looked at the detective. "Almost six." he shyly answered.

"Oh—" Albus scratched his chin.

He was pensive, thinking about how he possibly could broach the subject of the murderer with Harry. Indeed, he had no children and was currently walking on eggs. It made him think that Hogwarts' Police Academy should have a course focused on the treatment of juvenile victims but he didn't have his say as he wasn't the headmaster yet.

"Tell me, my boy, do you remember how you did that to yourself?" Albus inquired, motioning to Harry's scar. Once again, the kid's eyes filled up with tears and his cheeks turned red. The detective, quite embarrassed, clumsily took Harry in his arms and Dre crouched down again to stroke his back.

A few minutes passed and the cries eventually stopped but the noises they had made had drawn the attention of Minerva and Hagrid, now standing on the threshold of Harry's room. Well, the giant was already in to be accurate as he couldn't stand next to the middle-aged woman in the doorway.

"Minerva, Hagrid, let me introduce you to Harry." Dumbledore stated, twisting his head around to look at them.

"Hi~" Hagrid awkwardly said, waving to Harry who smiled back at him. His bedroom, which was already small, looked packed like a sardine can with the giant inside. Hagrid had to tilt down his head in order to avoid the ceiling. Minerva, however, contented herself with smiling at Harry, which didn't surprise Dre even if she used to be more ice-cold than warm and kind.

"I was asking Harry how he hurt himself." Albus resumed.

A strangled sound escaped from Hagrid's throat. That was all that remained of his eloquence.

"That's terrible, Albus. Does it hurt?" Minerva asked with a worried tone, looking at Harry.

Still grabbing the detective's glasses, the boy nodded. "Someone did that," he whispered, "a shadow."

At that point, they all came to the conclusion that the murderer had hidden his face, making his recognition almost impossible.

"Come on, Harry. We should clean this scratch." Albus stated, getting up and gently taking back his glasses.

He then motioned to Hagrid to take care of the kid, which he did by taking him into his arms. Harry didn't balk as he was itching to grab Hagrid's beard. They left the room, Dre in tow. Hagrid took care of sparring Harry from seeing his parents when they walked by the others rooms.

"If I remember correctly, his mother had an older sister. We should call her." Dumbledore whispered once he was alone with McGonagall.

Without knowing it, the Detective had just set the wheels in motion.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading me! I hope you enjoyed. The next chapter is untitled "Homes". It takes me some time to write as I'm not an English native and overbooked. Please, be patient**

 **I also want to thank a very good friend of mine, Emily Everson, for her help as she reads and corrects me.**

 **See you soon dear reader,**

 **Nezumi**


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